Poetry
... slaottp. EVEN ING. NVENINGl! thou prophesiest liut whilst we drink tile sadness The rest of tho silent land; or thy weary, drowsy air, wily sighs, ere yet thou diest. Wedreatnofmorn'scsnlmfragranCe Steal o'er me where I stand. And of hier sunrise fair. Sad wart thou, fairest eve, So ol y we dream Nsheot dying, If t hadslnt noanght beyond; In1 lifebs dll eventlino; ,Yainly might nortais grieve, ...